


Setting everything straight

by devilscut



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Basketball Player Derek, Boys Kissing, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Derek and Stiles are the Same Age, Discworld References, Frottage, Genderfluid Character, M/M, Mates, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Stiles, Pining Derek, Stiles in Denial, Terry Pratchett - Freeform, Twins, dubcon nuzzling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:58:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4126245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilscut/pseuds/devilscut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek meet for the first time in the 1st week of their High School Freshman year - it does not go well.  In fact, so badly that for the next year and a half they barely talk at all until the day it all changes.  The day that Stiles sees Derek Hale, jock and Hale Pack werewolf, smile.  Maybe, just maybe they can finally set everything straight between them or maybe Derek will simply tear his throat out with his teeth.. it's 50/50 and anyone's guess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Setting everything straight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silvertemper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvertemper/gifts).



> Just a little thank you to Silvertemper who has been an encouraging commenter and helped spread the word about my fics - thank you very much. :D
> 
> The good news is my friend is still hanging in there - she says she's too stubborn to listen to the doctors and she's not ready to throw in the towel just yet. I do feel a bit out of sorts still with regards to my writing and I hope this doesn't suck too much - I think my critical eye isn't working properly at the moment, but I also think I need to keep going regardless so I'm apologizing in advance.
> 
> I make a number of references to Terry Pratchett, a wonderful writer, who sadly recently passed away from Alzheimers. I have included the quotes and passages at the notes at the end of this fic that I'm referring to, so if you aren't familiar with the Discworld series, please look at them first so it will make sense.
> 
> I also have paid homage to the original Michael J Fox 'Teen Wolf' film by naming the Beacon Hills Basketball Team in this fic - the Beavers. (I couldn't find mention of a team name in the series canon anywhere, they refer only to the lacrosse team, the Cyclones).
> 
> And finally, I have a genderfluid original character in this fic and as I have a close relative who is genderfluid I asked them to review that part which they were okay with as I was unsure of pronouns. Genderfluid has nothing to do with physical gender or sexual orientation and is simply another aspect of what makes human beings so wonderfully, breathtakingly diverse.
> 
> The title is from a quote by the comedienne, Phyllis Diller - 'A smile is a curve that sets everything straight'.
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

 

Stiles peers through the windscreen of his Jeep at the daunting exterior of the Hale Mansion.  Daunting, in that it’s a beautiful example of late nineteenth century architecture with over four levels of luxury that represents the Hale pack’s immense wealth and power.  Even more daunting is the fact that he’s actually been summoned here.

 

He swallows hard, nerves threatening to close off his throat and choke him.  The engine is slowly ticking over from where he’s switched it off and his fingers tap a jerky, unsteady rhythm against the steering wheel.  He can’t seem to bring himself to let it go.

 

Stiles can vividly picture the interior of the mansion, not that he’s ever been inside.  He may have allowed curiosity to get the better of him and flicked through the spread in the most recent Spring edition of **_Better Den’s and Territories_**.  The glossy photos that accompanied the article showcased some of the major features of the home, from the foyer with the beautifully carved wooden staircase, the massive country kitchen with a long oak dining table at the heart of it surrounded by commercial-grade stainless steel appliances and the family room complete with a number of soft, cushiony couches and textured rugs by a huge open stone fireplace.   The obvious wealth on display in the soft, rich fabrics and solid, custom built furniture was not a surprise, the lack of ostentation and the feeling of home definitely was.

 

He’d not allowed himself to dwell on the bitter disappointment that no private rooms or bedrooms were shown or at least one bedroom in particular.  One that he imagines just has to have a few basketball trophies on display, because Derek was MVP for the team last season and won numerous Player of the Year awards, or maybe a deep-red number 4 jersey draped over a chair.  He told himself that just because he happened to have been at every game and was still struggling to follow the rules merely showed his school spirit.  _Go Beavers!_   He’d never thought he’d be cheering on an aquatic rodent in his life.

 

There’d have to be a complete set of well-read Discworld novels on a bookshelf somewhere in that room because he’s noticed Derek pulls one out of his back pocket every now and then at lunch.  He’ll ignore his group of jock and cheerleader friends for half an hour to read the adventures of Mort, DEATH and Rincewind to name a few and while Stiles has never doubted Derek’s intelligence, they share enough AP classes that he knows the youngest ever Captain of the BHHS basketball team is no dummy, a sense of humour is totally unexpected. 

 

Anyway, it’s all Terry Pratchett’s fault, these disturbing and intense feelings he’s been experiencing lately around the other boy, because it was at lunch a couple of weeks ago when he saw for the first time ever a genuine wide smile cross Derek’s face as he read the pages before him.  Stranger still was when he’d tipped his head back and actually laughed, it was so unusual that Stiles mentally took note of the date and time because something so momentous as Derek Hale, no. 1 jock and a born **_Hale Pack_** werewolf, laughing definitely needed to be recorded for historical purposes.   He’d wished he’d thought of capturing it on his phone so he could prove to himself he hadn’t been dreaming, but he was simply too stunned at the time to think clearly.

 

For the first time ever Stiles wishes he was a werewolf, solely to have been able to hear over the cacophony of noise that was a typical High School canteen and zero in on the other teenager.  He’d never seen or heard him do it before, not even when hanging with his best friends, Boyd and Isaac.  In fact as far as Stiles was concerned, Derek had a tendency to be downright grim.  He’d seen mugshots of serial killers who looked more approachable than the Were.  It was a fleeting rare smile and an annoyingly still unheard laugh from a naturally dour individual that had left Stiles gaping in shock as he had an epiphany.    


Derek Hale is beautiful.

 

Sure he’d always registered on Stiles’ radar as being attractive, with the muscles and the dark brooding good looks and had he mentioned the muscles, but it was a distant and remote awareness.  Something he’d pushed away, making it so very, very far out of reach that it had only caused a minor blip on his radar.  Maybe it was because of their very first meeting back in their Freshman year and what Stiles had assumed was the resulting mutual antipathy from both parties, so why even bother looking when he knows the Were isn’t interested in the slightest.  Right?   

 

Phantom pain blooms in his cheek, the memory painful and confusing.

 

**_18 months ago…_ **

**_Stiles shifts the textbooks and notebooks in his locker desperately searching through the pile.  Distracted, he’s vaguely aware of the whooping and hollering that echoes down the hallway accompanied by a familiar rhythmic sound that would be more at home in the gym, but he doesn’t focus on it closely, too busy searching for the blasted.. aha.  Picking up the graphing calculator that had somehow made its way to the very bottom of his locker, he sighs in relief, he didn’t want to be late to his Geometry class, again.  It wouldn’t do to have two of his teachers hate his guts in this first week of his Freshman year.  Mr Harris, his Science teacher, was more than enough._ **

****

**_“Look out.”  A masculine voice calls out sharply from behind him and instinctively Stiles turns towards it instead of ducking.  The hard, stinging blow of a basketball to the side of his face sends him reeling back into his locker, hands flying to his cheek and ear.  With his head ringing, Stiles blinks rapidly in shock, willing the tears of pain back.  Finally, able to focus he can see his book on the floor and right next to it, with a smashed display screen, the graphing calculator his Dad had surprised him with at the start of the week._ **

****

**_He looks across at the bunch of jocks that are milling around giving each other high fives and laughing.  Laughing at him, when they’re the idiots who think playing a pick-up game in a school hallway is a good idea.  Anger, hot and righteous, boils deep within his gut.  Their leader is tall and muscular with unusual penetrating pale eyes that flicker from blue green with a starburst of brown to a brilliant shining gold as he watches him, at first with what almost looks like concern and then increasing confusion._ **

****

**_A werewolf._ **

****

**_Any other time and Stiles would be almost gagging with curiosity, he didn’t know many Weres apart from a couple of his Dad’s Deputies, so to meet one his own age was intriguing.  Most Weres didn’t enter the mainstream school system until they’d proven control of their wolves, often around Freshman or Sophomore year.   There’s a small part of him that he deliberately ignores, the part that if Stiles wasn’t so pissed he’d be gawping at the sheer hotness of the other boy, with his chiselled handsome features and expressive dark winging eyebrows over golden eyes.  Golden eyes that lock onto the throbbing half of Stiles’ face with an intensity that’s kinda creepy and leaves him feeling more shaken than taking a hit to the face._ **

****

**_“I’m counting that as a three pointer.  Right Derek?”  “Whadidya get in the way for?”  “Did we break his brain?”  The mix of loud voices from the group of boys skewers Stiles through the temple, his head aching painfully._ **

****

**_“Hey numbnuts, throw us the ball.”  A voice calls out derisively from the back of the group._ **

****

**_The leader.. this Derek, scowls so fiercely then, that Stiles finds himself automatically retaliating.  He picks up the ball at his feet and throws it back at the Were as hard as he can only to see the other boy pluck it effortlessly out of the air.  His shoulders droop.  God, what is he doing lowering himself to their level.  Now he not only has a broken new calculator, but to top it all off he feels like a douche and a weakling in front of a bunch of Neanderthals whose sole talent is being able to bounce a ball.  Their opinion shouldn’t matter in the slightest and it doesn’t, but when he looks solely into eyes that shine more brightly than a freshly minted gold dollar coin, it strangely does._ **

****

**_Bending down he picks up the smashed calculator, thumbing over the screen in the hope it’s just cracked, but no he’s not that lucky considering he can see inside, can see the circuit boards.  His Dad was going to be so pissed.  In a one-income household the budget was pretty tight, even if his Dad is Sheriff.  They’d only just started to see a light at the end of the tunnel from the mountain of medical bills for his Mom before she’d.. so yeah they couldn’t afford to waste a cent._ **

****

**_“Hey little man, you better get out of here.”  The same voice calls out, before someone else says sternly “Shut it Matt.”_ **

****

**_Tension pours off the Were in waves and a rumbling noise echoes in the hallway.  A deep vibrating growl.  He sounds really pissed off.  The way his nostrils flare and the panting, heaving breaths he takes sends a shiver of unease down Stiles’ spine and he lifts his head up high._ **

****

**_Stiles’ cheeks burn even hotter and it makes the bruising from the ball throb even more painfully.  He knows he’s not very big for his age, his Dad tells him he’s a typical Stilinski late bloomer, small and slender.  The derision and catcalls about his size prick at his insecurities and fuel his anger.  However, it’s the silent leader that draws the majority of his ire though, there’s something about him that scrapes Stiles’ nerves raw.  Panic ripples through him watching the other boy still holding the basketball, which is deflating rapidly with all 10 claws piercing it, he gulps air desperately at the realisation that those claws could pierce him just as easily._ **

****

**_So he can’t really explain why he lifts his head and looks the dark haired boy in the eyes and quite clearly says “Jerk” defiantly, before turning on his heel.  Maybe turning his back on a predator was a mistake, when he’s grabbed so suddenly his head is spinning as he’s slammed back into the row of lockers behind him.  The throbbing ache at the back of his skull from making contact with the locker reminds him of every single warning his Dad’s ever given him about respecting Were’s and the wild they carry permanently within them.  He’s being crushed into the unforgiving metal by the determined press of Derek’s body into his.  It’s hot and heavy, smothering.  He can’t move, can’t breathe and it’s terrifying this display of raw power that shows exactly how impotent he is.  A mere human, helpless in the tight grasp of an all powerful Were._ **

****

**_Stiles shivers uncontrollably at the moisture he feels on his neck and blinking hazily realises that Derek’s got his face pressed tight and hard into his throat and.. Dear God, is he licking him?  The wet, hot rasp of his tongue glides over Stiles’ pulse which speeds up so quickly he’s worried he’s gonna stroke out or something.  Derek’s rumbling like an idling engine, the vibration settles low in his groin and no damn it.. hell no.  There’s no way he’s gonna have a fear boner when he’s got an out of control Were with his fangs out just ready to devour him whole, it’s just he’s never had another body against his like this.  It’s purely proximity.   A reaction to something that’s so hot and hard and smelling oh so good, like pine needles crushed under foot and sweet cinnamon toast.  It’s a musky spice that tickles his nose and taints the air so that it sits on his tongue with every inhalation._ **

****

**_Fear and mortification has him lashing out._ **

****

**_“If you’re gonna eat me just do it otherwise. Let. Go.”  Stiles snaps and Derek growls fiercely back and buries his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck harder and he can feel the scrape of fangs against his skin.  Stiles instinctively freezes trying desperately to ignore the tingling firing of his synapses that starts at his throat and washes over him.  Really what is wrong with him when he’s got a wolf at his throat ready to tear it open with his teeth?  Through stiff lips he mutters “Go ahead dude, I hope you get fucking indigestion.”_ **

****

**_In the corners of his vision Stiles sees hands pull on Derek’s shoulders and his arms and Stiles recognises the boys that hold him.  Isaac with the bright shiny curls and killer cheekbones and Boyd, a solemn giant whose big paw-like hands make even Derek’s broad shoulders look fragile.  Their eyes flash wolf gold as they struggle with the Were that currently has his teeth nipping at Stiles' collarbone, the warm glow is stunningly beautiful against Boyd’s rich chocolate skin tone and Isaac looks more like a fiery golden angel than a teenage boy.  Derek snarls and his claws tangle in Stiles’ shirt reluctant to let him go._ **

****

**_Wolf Packs are notoriously picky in who they accept from the thousands of petitions they receive each month from humans wanting to be turned, most only taking 1 or 2 every few years.  The general rule regarding candidates being offered ‘the bite’ by an Alpha was that they should be over 16, however, there were exemptions in the case of certain medical conditions and sometimes accidents involving children.  Stiles knows Boyd and Isaac from ‘before’ and he knows the reasons they’re now wolves._ **

****

**_Isaac because he’d been given a beating by his father that had very nearly killed him.  Stiles’ Dad, as Sheriff and Isaac’s court-appointed guardian, had requested a special dispensation from the Hale Alpha on behalf of the 11 year old to save his life and bring him out of his coma.  As for Boyd, his life changed forever at 13 when he drowned trying to save his sister who had fallen through the ice at a local skating pond in the coldest winter in fifty years.  He wouldn’t have made it if the pond hadn’t been right on the edge of Hale pack lands when the Alpha was luckily in residence.  Boyd was resuscitated by the bite.  His little nine year old sister, Alicia, wasn’t so fortunate._ **

****

**_Both Boyd and Isaac had been given the bite by Talia Hale, Alpha of the Hale Pack, and survived.  Stiles had never seen them at his middle school again._ **

****

**_“Derek.. let him go man.. they’ll make you wait another six months before you can re-do the ‘sweats’ if you get reported.”  Boyd is the voice of cool, calm reason, reminding the other boy of the control tests that every Were must pass before they can attend a mixed human/Were school.  The ‘sweats’, State School Were Testing (SSWT), as they were called were reportedly quite brutal, mentally and physically to ensure that Weres were fully in control of their animal sides, particularly around soft, squishy humans like himself.  It may not be fair, but no reputable College or University would accept a Were student that hadn’t gone through the testing and proven themselves by at least 2 years of mixed High School Education._ **

****

**_So far, he’s not too impressed with their accuracy going by his current predicament._ **

****

**_Stiles can hear the concern in Boyd’s tone and apparently Derek can too as he slowly lifts his head.  He pants open-mouthed and his golden eyes trace over Stiles’ features with a scrutiny that makes him squirm.  Isaac lowers his head and whispers something in Derek’s ear.  Derek’s lip curls as he barely nods and silently snarls.  Isaac gives Stiles such a wide-eyed startled look that he almost wants to apologise, for what he has no idea._ **

****

**_He can feel Derek’s arms loosen and Stiles takes a chance and slips out and under from his embrace, he can hear the fabric rip on his t-shirt as Derek swipes at him and tries to catch him.  Wincing he can feel his skin tear as a claw hooks in.  It’s not deep, it stings too much for it to be little more than a papercut because they hurt like a son of a bitch.  He can feel a little trickle down his shoulder blade.  He’s bleeding._ **

****

**_Derek whines and takes a staggering step towards him, it’s everything that Isaac and Boyd can do to hold him back as they’re dragged along in his wake._ **

****

**_“Get out of here.”  Isaac yells at him.  Eyes wide and glowing with a golden sheen._ **

****

**_Stiles ‘gets’ as fast as he can.  A loud roar echoes in the hallway, making him stumble and Stiles looks over his shoulder.  The other boys are silent with their heads tilted, bearing their throats in submission, the humans pale and the Weres flashing their wolf eyes.  Stiles swallows hard, panic making his throat tight as realisation strikes._ **

****

**_Derek isn’t a bitten wolf, he’s a born one.  His stomach clenches hard as he realises that this boy is obviously fucking Were royalty.  He doesn’t know why he didn’t make the connection before, but this ‘Derek’ just has to be Derek Hale, son of the current Alpha, Talia Hale._ **

****

**_It’s all too obvious with the way the other Weres defer to him.  All the Golden eyed Weres are Betas including Derek, yet as a born wolf Derek outranks them and is more powerful, more dominant than any bitten one.  The only wolves that Derek would bare his throat to are those higher in his pack like his Alpha and the Pack’s Enforcer or anyone that his wolf deems worthy of trust and respect._ **

****

**_The wolf is still standing there, no longer restrained, staring after him and his eyebrows are drawn together in such a harsh frown that Stiles is almost convinced it would be painful.  He doesn’t care if it looks like he’s running away, there’s something about the other boy that feels almost threatening, not in a violent confrontational way, more that by his very existence Stiles’ life has been turned upside down.  It’s a frightening feeling, so he runs.  Runs until he can’t run anymore._ **

****

**_Derek isn’t at school the next day or the one after that and it stretches into one week, then two.  Surprisingly, the basketball team leaves him alone, even douchebag Matt, which is kind of a relief.  Boyd and Isaac don’t say anything to him the first couple of days, their expressions tight and forbidding, but when it becomes apparent that Stiles hasn’t reported Derek for losing control of his wolf they simply nod in acknowledgement whenever they encounter him.  Isaac even going so far as to offer a little smile.  He can’t understand himself, why he didn’t report the other boy.  He knows none of the basketball team would, even with the majority of them being humans due to the regulated Were ratio that’s applied to all sporting teams, they would be reluctant because apparently right from the start of the semester Derek had displayed enough talent that the coaches were already muttering about finals and championships on the back of his performance._ **

****

**_One morning two weeks after what Stiles likes to call ‘The incident’ and still yawning after pulling another all-nighter researching werewolves online, because seriously if he’d known more about the Hale Pack maybe he’d have recognised Derek a lot sooner, Stiles fumbles with his combination and opens his locker and instantly his heart is stuttering in his chest before resuming a hard and fast rhythm.  There’s a brand new top of the range graphing calculator still in its box that has somehow miraculously appeared on top of his math book.  Turning his head either side, he looks down the hallway and sees Derek Hale standing next to his own open locker, but the Were’s attention isn’t on its contents, he’s looking right at Stiles.  His handsome face is thinner than he remembers, more pale and taut, there’s a weight to his stare that’s disconcerting and the press of it makes Stiles feel flustered and off balance._ **

****

**_“Is this you?”  Stiles asks quietly, as if the other boy were standing right next to him, knowing the wolf will hear him above the noise and distance between them.  He waves the box in the air.  The Were slowly nods his head, not taking his eyes off Stiles for one moment.  “Thanks.. a verbal apology would be nice though.  It’s not often someone tries to eat me.”  He snarks._ **

****

**_Derek’s eyes widen and his lips start to part before he frowns, his shoulders slumping, he slams his locker door closed and walks away.  Stiles can only stare after him, for one moment he could’ve sworn it almost looked like panic flaring brightly in the Were’s eyes.  He snorts.  As if.  What would a powerful Hale werewolf have to fear from one skinny teenage boy?  He tries to ignore the prickle of guilt that sits low in his gut, the one that’s saying that maybe he’d been a bit of a dick.  Alright.. that he was definitely a dick.  But, Derek.. he’d get over it.  Right?_ **

 

 

Over time he’d thought that they’d forget about it, but it seemed that Derek liked to hold a grudge.  With each subsequent encounter Derek looked more and more frustrated with him, like he was trying to picture how good his hands would look wrapped around Stiles’ throat, he looked at it so intently.  A couple of times it looked like the wolf was about to approach him and say something before his face would contort with some emotion that Stiles couldn’t define and Derek would abruptly veer away like it had never been his intent in the first place.  The disappointment was surprisingly bitter.

 

Gradually, they fell into a routine.  The werewolf didn’t speak to him if he could help it and if there was some requirement, because they did share a few classes together, he was lucky to get a grunt if not a growl to interpret how he liked.  If they met up in the hallway between classes, Stiles had become accustomed to ignoring the way Derek deliberately bumped against him pushing him into the lockers or brushed hurriedly past him with what felt like the entire length of his strong hard body, sometimes he'd even catch him by the collar and haul him out of the way, his fingers dragging over the back of Stiles’ neck, burning like a brand.  All the time Boyd would give him this look like he was trying to figure out what made him tick and couldn't work out why he even cared, while Isaac kept grinning at him like a lunatic.  It was unnerving.

 

So he’d learned to live with being on Derek Hale’s shit list and if it did pain him to see how Derek seemed to be able to interact quite happily, which in his case meant with frowns that didn’t cut grooves in so deeply and eyebrows that weren’t as violently mobile, with everyone else but him.. well he was able to squash it back down and distract himself, usually with Scott’s help.  He doesn’t like to think about what would happen when Derek inevitably got a girlfriend or maybe even a boyfriend, the guy’s too good-looking not to, but somehow he’s pretty sure that squashing his feelings down wouldn’t be so easy in that event.  Luckily, he’s not had to deal with that as Derek has somehow managed not to hook up with anyone not even at some of the victory parties that from what he’d heard had certain similarities to Roman orgies.  Not that Stiles was invited, but he knows the High School rumour mill would’ve gone into meltdown if the basketball captain had so much as blinked at someone.  Over time he’d become an expert at pretending the wolf wasn’t even there and if he stole a few glances in that direction every now and then, well his subconscious had gotten quite good at hiding the truth from himself.

 

Until now.  In the weeks following his epiphany, he couldn’t forget the gentle curve to Derek’s lips, it was seared into his memory and he most definitely couldn’t look away when they were in the same room.  He was desperate to see another one of those smiles and if Scott had to step in with almost an intervention regarding his increasingly stalkerish behaviour of following Derek at a distance through the corridors of Beacon Hills High then Stiles freely admits he sometimes gets carried away, but Derek Hale’s smile had become his new obsession. 

 

It had taken him all that time to build up the courage to say something, anything, to the other boy.  Stiles cringes when he recalls his lame attempt at bonding over **_Sourcery_** only a couple of days ago before the start of their shared AP English Lit class and the way Derek’s eyebrows had risen to almost dizzying heights on his forehead when Stiles had pointed at the book Derek held and squeaked at him “Cats are nice”.  Maybe Derek hadn’t reached that part of the book yet to recognise the quote, but the deafening silence had shattered his self-control and sent him scurrying to his seat a couple of rows behind the other boy, his face feeling like it was on fire.

 

It was after that incident that he’d started to notice Derek watching him back.  A lot.  He didn’t delude himself into thinking it was for all the reasons that he hoped for, even though Scott insisted that Derek had always done that, just Stiles had never noticed.  Scott’s assertions didn’t carry any weight with him, he maybe his best friend but whenever Kira was nearby Scott didn’t see anything else going on around him at all.  So uh-uh, there was no way that the other boy liked him too because the expression on Derek’s face was beyond the dour glare he usually carried.  It was sort of a cross between ‘I’m keeping my eye on you because you’re weird’ and ‘I wonder what your spleen would taste like’. 

 

Stiles had done his best to try and ignore the scrutiny and the butterflies that flittered through his belly every time he saw the other boy.  He resolved to keep out of Derek’s way and maybe keep some scrap or remnant of pride.  If he saw Derek walking his way down the corridors he’d turn around or duck into an empty classroom, it became almost a sixth sense.  Sometimes he didn’t even need to see him to know he was around, it was like the nape of his neck would tingle in warning and he could make his escape.  He barely even saw the other boy anymore, apart from a few AP classes. 

 

So what the hell is he doing here?  Stiles unclenches his hands which have wrapped around his steering wheel so tight that his knuckles are white and his fingers feel stiff with tension.  He still can’t quite believe that Derek Hale had stopped him after they left their class today by placing his hand on Stiles’ shoulder and leaning in close to look intensely into his face.  It didn’t escape his notice that the other boy no longer towered over him, he and Derek were roughly the same height now, the werewolf having maybe an inch or two on him.  Those mesmerizing eyes of blue, green and gold shot through with a starburst of brown around the pupil had flickered over his face with an intensity that had Stiles frozen in place wondering what he’d done to piss the Were off and was he going to get out alive. 

 

“My house.  Five o’clock.  You know the address?”  Derek had gruffly asked, eyebrows slashing dangerously and at Stiles shaky ‘Yes’ in reply, had nodded before abruptly walking out of the empty classroom leaving Stiles shaking and propping himself up against a desk to stop his knees from giving out.  The warm weight of Derek’s hand on his shoulder had stayed with him for the rest of the day.  As Derek had been holding the latest Lit assignment sheet in his free hand, Stiles could only deduce that the longest conversation he’d had with the werewolf was actually a request, more a demand to assist with his homework.

 

Sitting here in his old Jeep he’s never felt the contrast more between his middle-class human life to the rarefied one of a born Were when he looks across to Derek’s black Camaro, which he uses to take he and Cora, who's a Freshman now, to and from school.  There's a silver Audi sedan parked next to it under cover to the left of the house and he realises he wouldn’t change it.  The Stilinski’s don’t have a fraction of the wealth that the Hale’s and other packs of their size do, but he’s never lacked for anything and he and his widowed Dad have a bond that’s closer knit than a lot of pack wolves have and considering they’re human, that’s really saying something.

 

It’s late afternoon and with the sun setting behind the shingled roof, it’s bathed in fiery shades of reds and golds, the light licking at the building’s edges and Stiles shivers.  It’s too close a reminder of how the house had very nearly gone up in flames late last year because of that Argent chick, a real wack job.  A member of the ‘Humans First’ para-military group run by her father, she’d been obsessed by the Hale pack, in a ‘I want to burn down your house and everyone in it’ kinda way.  

 

Thankfully, Derek’s Uncle had caught her in the act of spreading gasoline all over the porch as an accelerant in the early hours of the morning before she could set a match to it.  He’s read the police report and the County Coroner’s that was attached to it, not that his Dad knows, and suffice to say that he never ever wants to piss off Peter Hale, Talia Hale’s Enforcer, and face pack justice.  Particularly considering they never found Kate’s liver when the coroner collected her remains in a number of black body bags and that her heart, which was still in her broken rib cage, had puncture marks from where it had been bitten.  Ewww.  He'd heard that the rest of the Argent family had moved to France after receiving death threats, including Allison Argent, who had been in a year above him at school, not that he'd had much to do with her.  She'd seemed nice, had even smiled at him once or twice in the hallway, but her social group was way out of his league.

 

Unbuckling his seatbelt Stiles opens his door and slides off his seat and grabs his backpack with his textbook and notes.  He doesn’t bother locking Roscoe because seriously.. he’s on the preserve of one of the most powerful wolf packs in the United States and aside from that he’d have to leave twenty bucks in the jeep to seal the deal for any would-be car thieves.  His stomach rolling with nerves Stiles slings the pack over his shoulder and walks to the bottom of the steps leading to the front porch.  The ornate carriage-style porch lights on either side of the bright red front door flicker on and illuminate the shadows that had been gathering.  Creepy much.  It was like the start of every horror film that Stiles remembered seeing as a young kid.  If the front door swung open by itself he was so out of there.

 

Reaching the top of the stairs before he can even knock on the door it does exactly that.  Stiles meeps and turns ready to sprint to his Jeep, already pulling his keys out of the pocket of his chinos, his heart thundering in his chest.

 

“Hello.”  The smooth masculine voice stops him in his tracks and he peeks back over his shoulder.  An older man probably in his mid to late thirties, head tilted watching him curiously, stands in the open doorway.  Stiles does an awkward hop step to turn around and as he does he’s aware the other man tenses up.  It’s so very subtle the way his shoulders shift and go rigid with a wary vigilance, the light from the interior spills across his face and ice trickles through Stiles’ veins as he recognizes him from the photos in the police files on Kate Argent’s failed arson attempt.

 

He maybe casually dressed in blue jeans and a black v-neck sweater that emphasizes his strong powerful neck and broad shoulders, but there’s an air of calm sophistication that surrounds him and belies his reputation as the most ruthless and deadly Pack Enforcer in the country.  An Enforcer is the Alpha’s right hand, their Sergeant-at-arms.  Trusted advisor, protector and law keeper, dispensing swift justice or punishment in their name.  They are the brutal, primal underbelly of the outwardly civilized face that is shown by Pack to the human world.  His name echoes in Stiles’ head over and over.  _Peter Hale  Peter Hale  Peter Hale  Peter Hale_ quickly followed by _don’t kill me  don't kill me  don’t kill me._

 

It’s all too apparent that Peter’s got an ear in tune to Stiles’ heartbeat when he says “Your heart’s about to beat out of your chest.”  He inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring slightly and his human eyes of icy pale blue flicker to the electric blue of his wolf.  “..and your scent.. you stink of fear.”

 

“Why so afraid little mouse?”  A smirk crosses the handsome face.  “If you want to be bitten there are proper channels to go through first.”

 

Stiles can feel his spine straighten and his shoulders pull back, he’s not some Werewolf wannabe groupie and who does this guy think he is calling him a mouse?  As if he knows what Stiles is thinking Peter smiles broadly and Stiles can see a glint of fang in the toothy grin which makes him twitch nervously, but for some reason he’s no longer afraid.  Pissed off, but not afraid.  It’s that stubborn Stilinski part of him that has his mouth opening without a filter.

 

“Hell no.  I don’t want to be a wolf.”  Stiles snaps out.  “Not when there’s a good chance I might end up snacking on someone’s liver at some point.”

 

“Truth.”   Peter declares and Stiles is pretty sure he’s just passed the Were version of a lie detector test of his heartbeat and pheromones when Peter crosses his arms over his chest and his face lights up, no longer smirking impassively.  It’s almost like Stiles has surprised him.  “Now this would be the perfect time to make a Hannibal Lecter joke or you could simply tell me what you want.”

 

“Derek.”  Stiles blurts out and can feel a hot flush steal up his throat and heat his face when he sees the Enforcer’s eyebrows lift and he realises how it sounds.  “Uhh.. I mean.. I’m here to see Derek.”

 

He doesn’t dare take his eyes off the Were as Peter stares at him for the longest time.  Stiles nervously shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he endures the other man’s scrutiny, not daring to take his eyes off the Were.

 

“What’s your name little mouse?” 

 

“Don’t call me a mouse.”  He snarls, but at Peter’s dark frown he quickly adds.  “Stilinski.  I’m Stiles Stilinski.”

 

“Ahh.  The Sheriff’s boy.”  Stiles doesn’t say anything because he’s pretty sure the Were isn’t asking a question, merely speaking his thoughts aloud.  “Your father.. he’s a good Sheriff.   Fair, but tough and determined.  I remember when he petitioned my sister to bite Isaac, not so much a petition as a demand that she do the right thing.  Definitely not a mouse..”  He leans in close, mouth open and his lips move in a rippling half-snarl half-breath displaying his gleaming white fangs and it takes everything Stiles has to stand his ground and not flinch away.  “..and maybe the son isn’t one either.”

 

Stiles doesn’t dare breathe as the Were watches him with clear speculation on his face. 

 

“Wait here cub and I’ll get my nephew.”  His wolf eyes lose the glow and their colour slowly bleeds back to what should be a more human shade of blue, but instead looks like chips of ice when he says.  “My nephew who is very dear to me.” 

 

“Thanks.”  Stiles murmurs, not quite sure if it’s politeness out of reflex or simply thanking the Were for not disemboweling him on the front porch.  The warning is so very clear. Peter closes the door and Stiles is left waiting on the porch.  He breathes out a heavy sigh of relief, sweat trickling down his spine and closes his eyes to try and calm himself otherwise Derek’s gonna get a nose full of Stiles’ jacked-up fear scent courtesy of one Peter Hale.

 

“Stiles.”  It’s the softer, almost surprised tone that Derek uses rather than actually hearing his name said in that familiar voice which has Stiles’ eyes popping wide open.  Derek’s leaning against the door, his unusual coloured eyes shining, the gold flecks within his irises glinting brightly.  “You’re here.”

 

What’s he meant to say to that?  You basically ordered me to come dude.  “Uhh.. yeah.”  He winces at how lame he sounds.  “Here I am.”  And God that’s even worse, he thrusts his hands into the pockets of his chinos to hide the tremor.

 

“I didn’t think you’d come.”  Derek’s standing in the doorway looking at him as if he can’t quite believe his eyes.  The golden glow of light from inside of the house surrounds him and Stiles can hear the stuttering rasp as all the breath leaves his lungs in one rapid exhalation.  There it is, what he’s been searching for all these weeks now and the other boy’s giving it to him freely and without restraint.  Derek’s smiling at him and it’s beautiful, he’s beautiful and Stiles can’t look away.  He can feel his mouth is hanging open and how is it that this perfection is real? 

 

His eyes flicker over the strong clean-shaven jawline, the high cheekbones and dark eyebrows winging over those amazing coloured eyes.  His glossy black hair is soft and damp at the ends, like he’s not long got out of the shower, and Stiles mentally groans at the images that instantly spring to mind.  He slips his hand into his hoodie pocket and thumbs the little jar of chest rub he’d started to carry around as damage control in case his hormones leaked into his scent, betraying him.  Scott’s girlfriend, Kira had sworn that a wolf couldn’t smell over the top of it, the menthol ingredient simply too overwhelming.

 

Stiles tries to focus on Derek’s hair because there’s something.. what is that?  It glitters and shines drawing his attention, perched on top of his head and yes it’s.. not really what he was expecting at all.

 

“Uhh.. I didn’t realise this was so formal.”  At Derek’s blank look Stiles points a finger to the top of Derek’s head where the silver glittery tiara sits.  “I would’ve worn a tie.”

 

Derek reaches up with one hand and pats the top of his head and Stiles can see the exact moment when he realises what he’s wearing, his face blanches before going deliciously pink and the expression he wears is so excruciatingly mortified that Stiles can feel his own face going hot from second-hand embarrassment.  With a flick of his hand Derek lets the door swing back closed between them and Stiles stands before it frozen as he hears the earth-shattering click of the lock catching. 

 

He’s left alone on the porch.

 

Oh God.. he’s such a dick.  What if he’d been trying to let him know.. well he’s not too sure what wearing a tiara would’ve indicated, but surely it meant something to the other boy and he’d gone and let his mouth run away as it’s want to do when he’s nervous and all he wanted to do right now is curl up in a ball and.. idiot, idiot, idiot.. 

 

With his stomach swooping and diving sickly in his belly Stiles steps up to the door and knocks lightly on the solid wooden panel.  “Derek.. Derek.. I’m sorry.. I didn’t..”

 

It clicks open and Stiles lets out a relieved whoosh of air when he sees Derek still with his tiara in place.  This time he’s not on his own.  Derek has a Princess perched on his hip who is nuzzling into his face comfortingly and is holding the hand of a snarling wolf pup, dressed as a pirate, who looks in dire need of a leash.  Stiles guesses the twins, and they are so similar they can’t be anything else, are about 5 or 6.  He’s not too good with kid’s ages seeing as he’s not been around any this age since he was one himself.

 

Stiles gives a little wave to the group as a whole, but his eyes are focused on Derek and he can see the painfully red colour that stains his cheeks hasn’t diminished at all and a wave of guilt rolls over him. 

 

“Hi.  I’m Stiles.”  His voice pitches uncertainly.

 

There’s a long strained moment where Stiles can feel a prickle of unease as he waits for something to happen.

 

“I don’t like him.  He makes you smell funny Der.”  Growls the one holding Derek’s hand, before giving Stiles a look so killing that he actually has to suppress the urge to take a step back.  “Stop hurting him or I’m gonna bite you.”

 

Stiles’ chest goes painfully tight, he doesn’t know what to think at this child’s declaration.  He’s been hurting Derek?  It just doesn’t compute.  He can only stand there numbly watching as Derek’s eyelashes flutter as he flicks a quick incomprehensible look at Stiles’ face before frowning down at the snarly pup. 

 

“Tilly you know that’s not allowed.  What are the rules about biting?”  Derek says gently.

 

Tilly huffs out an aching sigh, so put out, as though she’s done this a thousand times before and each one is as excruciatingly painful as the first.  “No biting humans.. everrrrrr.”  Tilly rolls her eyes as she drags the word out before continuing.  “No biting family unless we’re playing and everyone says okay.  No biting outside the pack unless we’re.. we’re..”

 

“Invited.”  Derek prompts.

 

“Yes that.”

 

“Good pup.”  Derek smiles down at her and Tilly leans into where Derek’s holding her hand and rubs her face against the back of his hand, scenting him.  She peers at Stiles from beneath the black bandana with a crossbones pattern tied around her head before smirking evilly.

 

“Still wanna bite you.” 

 

“Tilly.”  Derek admonishes sternly.  Derek looks up at Stiles and opens his mouth before closing it again.  He tries once more and Stiles feels strangely sorry for him seeing how he struggles to find his words.

 

“So are these your sisters?”  They are so obviously Hales, with the dark hair and strong features of the family, not to mention that Tilly has the same scowl as Derek.

 

The other boy looks almost relieved at the question.  “No they’re my cousins.  These are my Uncle Peter’s children.  This is Matilda.”  He nods at the disgruntled little she-wolf holding his hand.  “And this is Daryl.”

 

Oh yeah, Stiles can definitely see a resemblance between these children and the Enforcer, particularly Tilly.  She could give her old man a run for his money in the intimidation stakes.  The little boy on his hip leans in towards Derek and whispers in his ear.  Derek nods and hitches the boy up slightly higher on his side, the green velvet fabric of his dress caught between them drags up revealing a small vulnerable bare foot.  Derek turns back to Stiles and the expression on his face is a curious mix between stoic and pleading and Stiles is torn between annoyance that Derek would even think he could say or do anything to hurt the little ones, either of them, and finding the other boy’s need to protect his family totally endearing.

 

“Excuse me.. Princess Daryl.”  Derek introduces him again and Daryl nods his head regally, his long dark hair brushing his shoulders in loose ringlets and the golden tiara he wears is sitting lop-sided on the crown of his head.  The toy sword and scabbard belted around his waist hangs low on one hip.

 

With much flailing and waving of his arms Stiles does an elaborate bow as he says with all seriousness.  “Your highness.”

 

Daryl giggles and it’s Disney-version adorable.  Stiles lifts his head up to peek from under his eyelashes and he can see Tilly tilt her head back to look up at her brother and the scowl disappears, her face softening before she drops her gaze to meet his again, her eyes narrowing warily.

 

“I’m a girl today.”  Daryl pipes up out of nowhere as Stiles stands up straight once more.  “But tomorrow I might feel like a boy.. or maybe I’ll still feel like a girl.”  He cocks his head to one side thoughtfully.  “What do you feel like?”

 

Stiles is all too aware that both Derek and Tilly are waiting for his reaction with a tension that’s almost palpable, but it’s Daryl with a very adult scrutinizing look in his penetrating ice blue eyes, just like his father's, that makes Stiles feel painfully awkward.  That look doesn’t sit right with the pretty childish features and it tells Stiles the boy has had unpleasant reactions in the past.  It doesn’t occur to Stiles to be anything but truthful, not that lying would help, not in a household full of werewolves that can hear a lie in the rhythm of a heartbeat.

 

“Wow.  You’re really lucky, you get to feel like a girl and a boy.  I only feel like a boy most of the time.”  A memory wriggles free from the depths of his mind.  An article in some science journal he’d read a while back about the differences between born wolves and bitten ones.  The most common being the greater percentage of born wolves being genderfluid as compared to bitten.  The article debated whether being able to change from a young age they were simply more at ease with their various sides, feminine, masculine and wolf than humans and therefore the bitten who acquired their wolves later in life.  It had also looked at some born wolves having an inner wolf of the opposite sex of their physical first gender and in some very rare cases a born wolf having twin inner wolves, sometimes one of each sex known as _Gemina Lupus Spiritus Syndrome._

 

Daryl reaches out with one hand and gently pats him on the cheek.

 

“That’s okay.  Dad says it’s good to just be who you are.”  Daryl says comfortingly, even as Stiles struggles to picture Peter Hale, Enforcer also in the role of a Dad and weirdly from the sound of it.. he’s okay at it.  “I like you Stiles.”

 

Whatever test this is, he seems to have passed by the way Derek’s shoulders relax and Tilly’s scowl isn’t quite so fierce anymore.

 

“Thanks your highness, I like you too.”  Stiles smiles back at the suddenly shy one the little boy gives him.

 

“Time just got away from us.. didn’t it guys.”  Derek nuzzles at Daryl’s cheek and the younger boy whines in affection as Derek pulls the silver tiara from his hair and gives it to the younger boy to hold.  “But, I need to talk to Stiles for a bit so why don’t you go and see if Cora wants to keep playing Pirates versus Prin—“

 

“Is he your ma—“  Tilly interrupts abruptly, Derek quickly releases her hand and slaps his own over her mouth.  His face turns scarlet once more and the little pirate jerks her head back and lifts the end of the bright red sash that holds her cutlass in place at her waist and holds it to her nose.  “Eww Der.. you stink.”

 

“Go and find Cora.”  Derek orders firmly as he lowers Daryl to the ground, patting both of them gently on the back and the two pups run off hand in hand, Daryl leading Tilly past the huge wooden staircase, towards the back of the house from where a delicious cooking smell is coming from.  Lasagna, Stiles thinks and hopes Derek doesn't hear his stomach growl, but so what if he does, it's his fault anyway seeing as Stiles couldn't eat a thing for the rest of the day after his 'invitation'.  Derek shuts the front door and walks to the bottom of the staircase, he doesn’t say anything just indicates with his head that he expects Stiles to follow.

 

Stiles hitches up the strap of his backpack higher on his shoulder and doesn’t hesitate to follow the other boy.  He couldn’t fight the impulse even if he wanted to.  It’s an irresistible urge to simply be wherever Derek is.  He’s in the Hale house and he knows he should be looking around at the room, the many photos and paintings that hang from the walls, but he can’t seem to draw his eyes away from how broad Derek’s shoulders look in the navy blue t-shirt he wears or how the light grey sweatpants he wears emphasize his slim hips and tight ass.  Derek’s bare feet peek out from beneath the sweatpants and they are large, but perfectly shaped.

 

He’s so focused on the well-built body in front of him that he’s momentarily startled to realise that he’s somehow ended up standing in the middle of a bedroom and Derek’s looking at him with what he thinks is curiosity.  He’s blindly followed the wolf to where he’s led and it’s overwhelming how very right it feels.  Scary, but very right.  He draws in a deep breath and.. fuck.. even Derek's room smells good.  Not funky teenage boy stench, but a clean musky scent that wraps around him like a warm blanket and settles into his nose and lungs like it's gonna take up permanent residence there.

 

“Uhh.. sit down.”  Derek waves his hand towards the large queen size bed that dominates a good proportion of the room.  There's a large window behind it and he wonders if Derek lies in bed at night with the curtains open and bathes under the light of the moon, which then makes him picture Derek naked on his bed.  Swallowing hard as he tries to control his wayward imagination, Stiles looks around for a distraction as he perches nervously on the edge because fuck.. this is Derek’s bed and only in his most secret dreams had he imagined himself here.  He drops his backpack at his feet and tries to concentrate, he might never get to see inside Derek’s inner sanctum again so he aims to make the most of it.  The red, black and grey cotton quilt cover he's sitting on feels soft and worn from many washings under his fingers.  It's surprisingly so normal and homey that he smiles faintly.

 

Lifting his gaze, Stiles immediately spies the bookcase on the other side of the room that takes up a whole wall and it’s packed from floor to ceiling with even more book piles stacked at the base of it.  Stiles recognizes the Discworld covers from where he’s sitting and a larger, more rueful smile stretches his mouth.  There's a lone shelf on the bottom that's neatly packed with trophies, plaques and framed awards.

 

On the opposite wall, there’s a study desk in the corner with a closed laptop set upon it as well as some textbooks from school that Stiles also recognizes.  A pin up board on the wall above the desk has some posters of a few pro-basketball players, Stiles doesn’t know who they are, but the team names are familiar.  He and his Dad prefer baseball and football.  The calendar is a ‘Walking Dead’ one opened to this month with Rick Grimes pointing his gun on top of an overturned bus, some of the dates are circled and there are a few things written, but he’s too far away to be able to read them.  There are a few photos pinned to the board, they look like they’re mainly family group ones plus a couple of the basketball team.

 

Derek sits down on the desk chair and almost immediately jumps up again.  “Shit.. I forgot to ask.. did you want a drink or anything?”  Stiles shakes his head, no.  The way he feels he’d seriously embarrass himself by dribbling or somehow choking and spraying liquid everywhere, safer not to even risk it.  “It’s no trouble.. I can..”

 

Derek peters off when Stiles lifts his hand and waves at him that it’s okay.  He slowly lowers himself back down to the chair and it seems he can’t take his eyes off of Stiles.  Watches him with a burning intensity that makes Stiles shift restlessly.  

 

“So should we start.”  Stiles says thickly, reaching down to pick up his backpack.  He opens it up to pull out his notes when he realises Derek’s not moved. 

 

“Start what Stiles?”  A little groove appears between Derek’s eyebrows.

 

“Homework?”  Stiles watches warily as Derek sits back in his chair so abruptly, that it squeaks loudly in protest.  “That’s why you asked me here right?”

 

“NO.”  Derek barks out, the groove deepening and wait.. wait.. yep, there it is.  The scowl.  “How could you think that?  I asked you here to talk.”

 

“Well it’s not like you actually gave me a reason ‘Mister My-house-five-o’clock-be-there'.  It seemed logical.”  Stiles puts the pack down and glares at the other boy.  Was this all a trick or a ruse to.. well he didn’t know what exactly, but why the hell has Derek Hale invited him here then?

 

“I was.. I wanted to ask..”  Derek snaps, then sighs and slumps in his chair.  Lifting his hand he rubs it over his mouth and chin and Stiles is dumbfounded to realise that the other boy is nervous.  The way his eyes keep flickering over Stiles and the little twitches his hands make and strangely it’s these signs that help loosen the huge knot of tension that sits low in Stiles’ belly.  “God, why is it so hard to talk to you.  I have it all planned and then it’s just gone..”  Derek shrugs in frustration.  “.. and I never know what to say.”

 

“You can ask me anything.”  Stiles says, biting his lower lip to stop from wincing at what almost sounds like a declaration from escaping his mouth. 

 

Derek stares at him for a long moment before he sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looks at his clasped hands, his knuckles are white and the cords in his forearms are prominent.  Ropey with tension.

 

“Have I said or done something to make you hate me more than usual?”  Derek asks hesitantly.  His voice is low and gentle like he’s trying not to frighten Stiles.

 

The rest of the room recedes in Stiles’ vision and all he can see is Derek, all he can see is the way his mouth twists painfully like it hurts him to even ask the question and how he genuinely believes what he’s saying.  The world is pitching wildly about him and Stiles is shocked to the deepest most secret part of him.  When the buzzing in his ears finally clears he realises that somehow he’s stumbled across the room and is kneeling at Derek’s feet, one hand on the other boy’s clasped ones and he’s locked eyes with Derek’s shocked multi-coloured ones.

 

“I don’t hate you.. I’ve never hated you.”  Stiles whispers, appalled at the wolf’s thoughts.  Derek tries to pull back, shaking his head in denial, but Stiles grabs his hands with both of his, letting the warmth of the other boy’s skin soak into his.   “Never.”

 

“But..”  Derek pauses and Stiles can literally hear the wheels turning in his head as he works out what he’s going to say.  “You think I’m a jerk.”

 

Stiles nods his head in understanding and Derek ducks his head, but not before Stiles sees the flare of hurt cross his face and inwardly curses.  He’s mucking this up so badly.

 

“No.. no.. **_that_** day I think you were and I was one too.. but I’d just copped a basketball to the head and it hurt.”  Derek turns back as Stiles squeezes his hands comfortingly.  He tugs one of his hands free and lifts it to Stiles’ face, it hovers over his cheek that had received the blow that day.  Stiles moves quickly and he can hear Derek suck in a sharp breath when he presses his face against that hand.  Derek’s fingers stroke reverently over his skin and Stiles trembles at the wave of warmth that ripples outwardly from his touch.

 

“I wanted to do this that day, but.. I didn’t trust myself.”  Derek whispers.  “My wolf was out of control, my first week at school and I was barely hanging on from not..”  He trails off and licks his lips nervously.

 

“From not.. **_what_**?”  Stiles asks breathlessly.

 

Derek leans closer and Stiles can feel the warmth of his breath on his face, can smell the mint of toothpaste and the cheesy hint of corn chips.  Wolf gold flickers to life in his eyes and that warm glow is just as beautiful, just as mesmerizing to Stiles as his human ones.

 

“To pick you up and take you somewhere we could be.. alone.”  Derek’s nostrils flare slightly at the dark, heavy  intonation he gives the last word and a pink flush settles high on his cheekbones.  Stiles can feel the tremor in Derek’s hands like a question and his body answers with a quiver.

 

“Alone.”  Stiles squeaks and gulps harshly.  The implication in that one word sends arousal shooting through his body and he can literally feel all the blood rushing from his extremities to pool low in his groin.  Very low.  It leaves him a little light-headed and his cock and balls feel suddenly heavy and achy.  When Derek draws in a deep breath his eyelids flutter closed and his mouth goes slack, his pink tongue swipes over his full lower lip and Stiles hears a low human moan distort midway into a wolfish rumbling growl from the broad chest in front of him.  The vibration travels through their hands and hits Stiles square in the gut.

 

Derek’s eyes slowly open, heavy-lidded and pupils blown.  “Your scent.. God you smell so good.. sweet like vanilla, but underneath tart and sharp, like limes.”  He leans in closer, looming over him and Stiles isn’t frightened even though he can’t move a muscle when Derek drags his nose and open mouth along his jaw and up his cheek, breathing him in and it feels like he’s been set on fire.  “I was so worried, you smelt wrong over the past couple of weeks.. I didn’t know what to do and you were avoiding me and.. my scent marks had worn off.. please, I can’t not see you.. I need to see you Stiles.”

 

The heated words brush over his skin and Stiles can feel the shockwave of glorious understanding demolish all the doubt and fear.  Reaching into his pocket Stiles pulls out the little jar of chest rub and holds it up in front of the wolf.  Derek’s nose twitches violently and Stiles quickly tosses it towards his open backpack by the bed and mentally cheers when it drops straight in.

 

“I’ve been carrying it around with me for the past couple of weeks.”  Stiles admits.  He’s sorely tempted to lift his hand and rub away the worry furrow that’s formed between Derek’s thick black eyebrows.  “I didn’t want you to scent me when I was around you.” 

 

The slumberous expression is instantly gone and Derek’s eyes are wide with such ill-concealed hope that Stiles wonders how has he been so blind. 

 

“Why?”  Derek rasps out hoarsely as his fingers tighten around Stiles’.  It feels like there’s barely any space between them anymore.  There’s an awareness of what this would look like to an observer, Stiles on his knees before a seated Derek who’s arching over him possessively, dominantly, forcing him to tilt his head back to see his face and how it exposes the long line of his throat to the wolf.

 

“A question for a question.  Okay?”  Stiles watches as Derek’s nostrils flare in time with the ragged panting breaths he’s making through his open mouth.  The wolf nods his head stiffly in agreement and Stiles huffs in relief.  Stiles may have been blind to a lot of things when it comes to Derek Hale, but here in his home and seeing him with his family and the few things that have slipped out, many of their interactions in the past were starting to make a lot more sense.  “Am I your mate?”

 

Derek’s face remains startled even as it shifts before his gaze from human to wolf, a heavier brow appearing, sharp fangs that suddenly protrude over his lips.  His whole body looks somehow bulkier, more powerful, it should be menacing and yet there’s fear, stark and unrelenting in his wolf gold eyes as he watches Stiles warily.

 

“Because if I am, then I wouldn’t mind at all if my mate could scent how much I like him.”  It’s like watching the sun rise Stiles thinks as he sees the dawning realisation of what he’s said impinge on Derek’s thoughts and the smile that he loves so much is just as beautiful with razor sharp fangs.  Before he can blink he’s being swept up into the wolf’s arms and placed gently onto Derek’s bed.  The wolf kneels between his splayed legs, a huge tent at the front of his sweatpants and Derek’s Beta shift ripples away.  Derek’s eyes roam all over his body heatedly, not fixing on any one point and Stiles can feel his body grow warm and heavy with the need to feel the other boy against him.

 

“Derek.”  Stiles licks suddenly dry lips at the scorching look that Derek gives him and he shifts restlessly, writhing with an aching need to touch and be touched.

 

“God Stiles.. you’re so beautiful.. I’ve imagined you here in my bed so many times.. you don’t know.. I need to.. can I..”  The words pour out of Derek’s mouth and Stiles feels electrified knowing that Derek’s thought about this and if he’s honest so has he in the dark of his bedroom always promising himself that in the light of day he’d forget about touching himself and picturing Derek there with him.

 

“Yes.. yes.. anything..”  Stiles moans, reaching up for the other boy and Derek clenches his jaw tight as he holds himself above Stiles before deliberately settling his weight in between his thighs.  He can feel the thick, heavy bulge of Derek’s cock press into his aching length currently being strangled by his chinos and he bucks helplessly before reaching up and grabbing hold of Derek’s t-shirt and dragging him down.  The guttural groan Derek makes is quickly smothered as Stiles presses his open mouth to Derek’s and they’re kissing. 

 

It’s clumsy with inexperience and their teeth click together, but it’s wet and hot and Stiles can feel the rasp of invisible stubble abrade his lips and chin.  It burns.  Fuelling the fire that races through his veins and he clutches frantically at Derek, his safe harbor, almost afraid that the storm of desire crashing through his body is going to destroy him with its fury.  The heavy press of Derek’s body into his is driving Stiles insane.  He needs friction, he needs rubbing, he needs to come.. damn it.

 

He pushes up as Derek grinds down and they’re groaning roughly, panting harshly as they stumble into a rhythm of humping and grinding and it’s so fucking good no matter that there's layers of fabric between.  Stiles opens his mouth wide to let Derek slide his tongue in deep and rub against his and the wolf pumps harder, his hands sliding up the sides of Stiles’ body, tracing over the ridges of his ribs to instinctively hook over his shoulders to anchor himself as his thrusts become increasingly more and more powerful.  Stiles’ fingers drag at the soft cotton of Derek’s t-shirt to slide underneath it, the Were’s heavily muscled back feels hot and silky smooth beneath his palms and he lifts his legs to wrap around Derek’s hips needing to be as close to the other boy as he possibly can.  That movement seems to snap something in Derek and he whines, high and loud, as his body is moving wildly, so crazed and out of control that Stiles wails in agonized delight as his body arches and bends in primitive instinctual response.

 

“God Stiles.. want you.. want you so much.”  Hearing the desperation in Derek’s voice sends wracking shivers through his body from head to toe. 

 

The throb of his cock is unbearable and the coiling tension of pleasure just out of reach winds tighter and tighter until it releases with a force that threatens to blow the top of his head clean off.  The pulses go on and on as he comes.  He cries out his satisfaction, calls for his mate to join him in this bliss.  “Derek.. Derek.. wanna feel you come.”

 

Derek lifts up, his arms locking into position as his hips thrust against Stiles one final time and he’s seemingly helpless to deny his mate as he comes, roaring his satisfaction, fangs bursting from his gums.  Stiles can feel Derek’s cock jerk and pulse against him and Derek’s arms start to shake and he collapses onto Stiles, pressing his face into his throat, hot panting breaths moist on his sensitive skin.

 

“Derek.”  Stiles manages to gasp out as his lungs are slowly being compressed from the weight of his mate’s body not allowing him to draw in any air.  Derek rolls his body to one side, curling around him, his face still buried in Stiles’ neck.  Their bodies press together and Stiles lets his hand stroke up and down the other boy’s arm until their fingers tangle and Derek grips on tight drawing his hand up to his chest, holds it against the beat of his heart that thunders beneath his ribcage.

 

“Oh Stiles.”  Derek breathes out and Stiles would smile at how completely wrecked the Were sounds if he had the strength.  Feeling so very satisfied makes Stiles bold and he lets his free hand slide up Derek’s chest drawing a little shiver from the wolf until he reaches his chin.  Stubble prickles against his fingertips as he gently nudges against Derek’s chin, encouraging the wolf to raise his head.  Relief pours through him when he sees the warmth that lights up the Were’s face as they stare silently at each other. 

 

“I’ve never felt.. “  Stiles begins, before pausing not really knowing what to say.  Is there an etiquette that he should be following when it comes to the aftermath of sex?   Really good sex.  Amazing incredible sex.   Should he say ‘thank you’ or maybe ‘please can we do that again?’.  Instead he leans into the other boy and lets their foreheads rest against each other as he whispers.  “You’re so beautiful.”

 

Derek’s eyelashes flutter shyly against his cheeks and Stiles loves the way colour floods into his cheeks rising until his ears glow with red heat.

 

“I’m not.”  Derek murmurs.  “Not like you.”

 

“Yes you are.  I love your smile.”  Derek snorts, but his lips stretch and Stiles lets his fingers trace over the breadth of the smile on the Were’s face.  “There it is.”  He leans in and gently presses his mouth to Derek’s, it’s soft and lush, warm against his flesh and he could do this forever. 

 

Forever lasts until he hears a rapid knock on the door.

 

They flail wildly as panic-stricken they see the damp patches that they both carry on the front of their chinos and sweatpants respectively.  Derek unlocks it and moves to stand behind the door and peer around. 

 

“Peter wants to know if your guest is staying for.. oh my God.. Jesus Derek.. what have you been doing in there.. actually no, no don’t tell me I don’t want my psyche scarred permanently.”  The feminine voice climbs in pitch accusingly.  "Thank God the rooms are soundproofed."

 

“Shut up Cora.”  Derek’s shoulders relax and Stiles huffs out a breath he didn’t know that he’d been holding, fully expecting the knock on the door to belong to either Derek’s parents or his Uncle.  He steps back when Cora pushes her way into the room, her dark eyes roll wildly when she looks at the state of their clothes and lifts her hand to cover her nose and mouth.  Stiles’ lips twitch when he sees the black eyepatch that sits on her forehead, the elastic band holding her long dark hair back and away from her pretty face.  Captain Cora Hale, pirate scourge of Beacon Hills. 

 

Pinching her nose, looking from Derek to Stiles with a gleam in her eyes that Stiles recognises from Tilly, she says in a nasal twang.  “Peter wants to know if your guest’s staying for dinner and I want to know that you won’t be hurting my brother.  He’s been pining over you for long enough and if this is just you messing around I’m gonna kick your ass.”

 

“CORA.”  Derek roars his sister’s name as he facepalms with a decided slap of flesh on flesh.  His ears are glowing like embers again.

 

Stiles holds his hands up in surrender, the females in this pack are way too scary not to.  “Definitely not messing around.. and the pining’s been pretty mutual.”  He confesses softly.

 

Derek lifts his head up and Stiles can see disbelief warring with surprise in his expression.  “Really?”

 

Stiles nods vigorously.  “I think we got off on the wrong foot entirely and then trying to change it..”  He trails off, shrugging helplessly. 

 

Nodding slowly in agreement, Derek smiles tentatively and Stiles just wants to bask in it.   He can’t look away from the other boy, it feels like he’s falling into the deep green pools that watch him like it’s some sort of miracle that he’s standing in the room.  It feels amazing, to know that this incredible, beautiful boy sees something special in him.

 

“Oh for God’s sake.. you guys are sickening.  Dinner’s in half an hour and I’ll tell Peter you’re staying, but whatever you do.. clean up.  That stench’ll put us all off our food if you don’t.”  Cora shudders and gives them a pointed glance at their pants before stalking out, her long dark hair whipping around her shoulders and slams the door behind her.

 

Derek never takes his eyes off Stiles as he flails back wildly behind him with one hand, searching for the catch on the door.  A shiver ripples down Stiles’ spine when he hears the soft click. 

 

“Stiles.”  Derek breathes out his name huskily.

 

“Half an hour.”  Stiles says as he takes a shaky step forward, his blood is pumping so hard around his body he can feel it, the heavy pulse in his neck.. at his groin.

 

“God yeah.”  Derek’s suddenly in front of him and surrounding him, kissing him urgently, hungrily.  Hands gripping his hips tightly, possessively.  Stiles draw back, panting for breath.

 

“DEATH got it wrong.”  Stiles says, a noticeable tremor in his voice, Derek tilts his head curiously.  “This is what truly makes living worthwhile.”

 

Derek’s smile is breathtaking and Stiles dives back in and finds that it’s hard to kiss and grin at the same time, but he’s pretty sure that with enough practice they’ll get it just right eventually. 

 

And they do.

**Author's Note:**

> The Discworld series is humorous magical fantasy with many wonderful characters. My favourite is DEATH, who is the grim reaper, and speaks in Upper Case. This is the quote that Stiles refers to when he's trying to connect with Derek in the classroom and also at the end of the fic. It is between Ipslore, a wizard, and DEATH who has come to collect/reap him.
> 
> “I meant," said Ipslore bitterly, "what is there in this world that truly makes living worthwhile?"  
> Death thought about it.  
> "CATS." he said eventually. "CATS ARE NICE.” 
> 
> ― Terry Pratchett, Sourcery


End file.
